Onomatopoeia

Thursday June 25 2020: Bruce at the Hotel Isabella: it's ridiculous how happy we were.

On Wednesday, June 24, 2020, Toronto reopened with a *crk* *fitz* - either like a tall cold can of beer, or a survivalist's can of Brazilian corned beef.

It's hard to say.

Things are not "normal." For example, I've never before had a bar waitress cheerfully request my name and phone number. Never before would I have just as cheerfully given them to her.

But, I also would not have imagined how much fun it would be to sit on an outdoor patio again and drink a beer. What did I enjoy the most? Catching snatches of the inconsequential conversations at other tables? Seeing strangers enjoy the company of their friends? Just being with other people? Two pints of Guinness on an empty stomach played a part, but we were giddy as schoolgirls, our spirits lifted, genuinely cheered by the experience.   

So the pandemic has taught us that it's more fun not to drink at home. 

What about shopping?

Here's the Eaton Centre after it opened at 11:00 a.m. on Wednesday:

You can see that most, but not all, people are wearing masks. That may soon change.

The ratio of security personnel to shoppers was about 1:1. Most of the stores were still closed. Social distancing signage was more prevalent than the usual giant signs for perfume and women's underwear. 

Aveda products were 25% off, so I lined up, as planned in May, and bought some soap, lotion and hair product. 

Overall, a less energizing experience than the patio at the Hotel Isabella, but it's early days.

My Last COVID Clean-Up

Some readers are aware that, for the past decade at least, our fridge has been covered with poetry magnets. Once upon a time, Bruce would stand for hours in front of the fridge, composing. But then Bruce lost his muse, and the magnets were just stuck there, unregarded, unloved, unmoved, like large wordy particles of dust.

I took them down and for the first time in a decade saw the highly reflective surface of our fridge door.

So you can still see Bruce on the fridge - just in a different way.

Actually, There's One More COVID Clean Up

I'm not the only one who has noticed that the pandemic has become a monstrous license to turn masks and gloves into litter. 

Along with continuing to show care for one another, keeping our distance, washing our hands and expanding our bubbles safely, it would be great if we could all commit to stop being such thoughtless slobs.

A cabbie way station on Sherbourne north of Wellesley

Thanks for reading!

Tip your waitress!

Karen

Fridge selfie

Opening Up

The fledgling robins are back. 

Ontario outside the Greater Toronto and Hamilton area has moved to Stage 2, meaning people can do just about everything they used to except go to school or rock concerts. Everyone should stay six feet apart and wear a mask, though.

Toronto's still not ready to open, but it is starting to unlock.

Raccoons are the COVID spirit animal: they wear masks; they wash their little hands.

Bayview Avenue on
Sunday afternoon.

Coffee shops are open and serving customers two at a time. Restaurants have morphed into markets to sell their food. Even gyms are getting ready to help everyone shed those COVID pounds. In the meantime, thousands have taken the City up on its offer to get some exercise walking and biking along roadways closed to vehicle traffic.



COVID Litter Photo Essay

You know how you can tell more people are out and about?

 

 

 

 

Along with mask and glove litter, higher gas prices, and 'way more cars on the road, signs that we are learning to live with the virus among us are:

• Blinds to Go finally installed in the middle of June the blinds I ordered at the beginning of March.
• I have a dentist's appointment on July 6 (y-a-a-a-y).
• I have a haircut booked ... on September 8.

My hair stylist and I agreed unintentionally prophetically early in February that I should "wait a little longer than usual" for my next cut. At the moment, I'm hairier than Justin Trudeau and by September 8 I'll be a bad hair day meme.  

I May Miss the Lockdown

Another unanticipated upside of the response to the virus is I see more friends and talk more with my family than I did before the lockdown. Because no one's got anything to do, everyone has time to visit. And, when I talk with my friends in a park as opposed to a bar or restaurant, I can actually hear what they say.  

Thanks for reading!

Wear a mask!

Karen

Two new robins in the
backyard hemlock this year

  

Across the Great Divide

On the Sherbourne Side: Glen Road on the south side of Bloor.

One of our favourite COVID walks that gets us out of the house and away from people takes us up Sherbourne Street, past St. James Town, along the south end of Glen Road, through a tunnel under Bloor Street, over a footbridge spanning Rosedale Valley Road and into Rosedale proper, where big old trees shade deserted sidewalks.

On the footbridge, looking south to the tunnel

The difference between where we start and where we end is hard to miss. One of the city's poorest neighbourhoods is just a footbridge away from one of the city's wealthiest. 

St. James Town towers: looking south on the bridge 

The contrast is stark. So much wealth so close to such poverty brings out my inner socialist. We talk on our Rosedale walks about the scourge of social inequality, but we don't talk too loud. We don't want to frighten the natives. Or cause them to call the police.

The Rosedale end of the bridge: the plaque commemorates
Morley Callaghan, who lived nearby

I look at the massive homes and the manicured properties and the $85,000 cars in the driveways and I wonder how anyone could have so much and not feel compelled to share.

Rosedale Vanity Plate. It stands for "earnings before interest, taxes, depreciation, and amortization," 
the things investors look for in a company. I don't think it matters that the car is from New York. It makes no difference that they want to keep Tahoe blue.

There's an answer to that question. Social science research shows that rich people lack compassion and have a strong sense that they deserve what they have. So, they are disinclined to share.

These days, people want to defund the police. Another good idea might be to defund the rich.

Thanks for reading!

Tip your delivery person!

Karen

That's rich:
gas 20 cents a litre shy 
of pre-COVID prices.

Temporary Forest

Grim warnings of rioting and looting put downtown Toronto under plywood (on top of lockdown) for this past weekend of protests against the death of George Floyd.

Tangerine Branch at Yonge and Shuter, morning of Friday, June 5, 2020

Same branch, morning of Monday, June 8, 2020

But, all the demonstrations were peaceful, even the smattering of yahoos still staunchly denying COVID-19 on the lawn of the legislature. 

Jobs, jobs, jobs.

Job growth in May was stronger than expected. The numbers for June should be even better, at least for guys putting up and then taking down plywood hoarding.

There's less call for this kind of work: anti-lockdown protests have dwindled.

One last photo of a previously non-ironic sign:

Harry Rosen's got a new look for 2020.

Thanks for reading!

Black lives matter!

Karen

Apocalypse

Bayview Avenue, Saturday May 30: keep your distance!

David Frum's most recent book, Trumpocalypse, was written well before, but happened to be released during, the pandemic. He had just enough time to write a new forward before his publisher had to go to press.

About the word in the title of this blog, he had this to say in his book:

... the word "apocalypse" originally and literally means an uncovering, a revelation. For the Jews and Christians who introduced the concept into [their] religious traditions, an "apocalypse" was not the end. It was a beginning. It would inaugurate a new and better order in which justice would triumph at last over injustice.

I don't like David Frum's politics, but he is a smart, thoughtful person and I've read both his books about Trump. In them I read one man's struggle to navigate the gap between what is and what ought to be.

This week, people around the world were engaged in a similar struggle, but on a much larger scale.

I hope we bridge that gap this time.

Thoughts on a Meme 

My name, gender, race, age and social status have been a meme for a while. But, as I assume my readers are aware, Karens rose to true cultural prominence the week before last (click on the link if you have no idea what I am talking about). 

As a person who has asked to speak with the manager (but only when I'm talking with Bell customer service, I swear), I recognize how I could be seen to fit the stereotype. And that didn't really bother me, until I saw that video.  

Now that Karens threaten to sic police on blameless Black men and mistreat dogs - and not just drive Volvos, binge drink at book clubs, shop at Walmart and demand to speak with the manager wherever they go - all the fun has drained out of the meme for me.

Retribution against this Karen was swift. (Further proof, if you need it, that the impulse to pick on women is strong.) This woman - her actual name is Amy Cooper - lost her job and temporarily lost her dog. She was the social media death threat target-of-the-week, too. 

So I guess she's learned her lesson. Now if only the police could learn theirs.

Black lives matter.

Thanks for reading.

Karen